


I Like You

by orphan_account



Category: The Night Shift (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Jordan and T.C. as residents, Jordan and T.C. meet for the first time, Jordan is unimpressed, Medical diagnosing, T.C. is persistent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25749319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Dr. Alexander," she introduces herself. "I knew that," he says, gesturing to the embroidered J. Alexander, M.D. above her left pocket. "But what's that stand for?" he asks, lightly tapping the J with his index finger. "Wouldn't you like to know," she replies. Pre-series. Jordan and TC meet for the first time as residents.
Relationships: Jordan Alexander/T. C. Callahan
Kudos: 5





	I Like You

**Author's Note:**

> Another story I'm importing from ff.net. Originally posted in 2014, but I'm adding to my AO3 account in addition to the original work. Hope there are still some Night Shift fans around.

TC Callahan is filling out a chart at the nurses' station when he overhears his attending, Dr. Norton, arguing with someone. He might only be a first year resident, but even he can tell that Dr. Norton is an idiot. Unfortunately, he's head of the emergency department, so he wonders who is brave enough to argue with the boss. He looks up and realizes it's not a fellow attending like he expected, but rather someone from his own class. He recognizes her, but he can't seem to remember her name. He's pretty sure they haven't actually met. She doesn't look like someone he'd be likely to forget.

A first year standing up to the head of the department is not something you see everyday. He shuffles closer so he can eavesdrop.

"I really think you should consider Lyme disease, Dr. Norton," she says, handing him the chart.

"Does she have the rash?" he asks, flipping through the chart.

"Well, no," she admits. "But–"

"She's missing the most common identifying factor for an uncommon disease, and you expect me to start treating her for it?" he interrupts. TC expects her to back down at this, but to his surprise, it seems to make her more determined. He grins to himself.

"She has all the other symptoms," she says, gesturing towards the chart he's holding. He studies it for a moment.

"She's complaining of headaches, fatigue, and joint pain. It sounds like she's overworked and overdramatic. Discharge her," he orders. Once again, TC expects her to back down, and once again she proves him wrong.

"Sir, she's an avid hiker. She's in the woods consistently, and she's got two dogs that could have carried an infected tick," she argues, and TC can see that she's trying not to yell at her boss. He can sympathize.

"Does she remember getting bitten by a tick?" Dr. Norton asks, and TC rolls his eyes. Doesn't the man realize how small ticks are?

"Deer ticks are miniscule," she starts. "She could have been bitten by one and not even realized it." TC smirks. Great minds think alike.

"Look, Dr. Alexander," he starts, and TC cheers internally. Now he knows her name. "I'm your attending, and I'm telling you to let it go. She doesn't have Lyme disease, and if she's not getting any worse, I want you to discharge her. We could use the bed." By this point, TC wants to punch the guy in the face, and he's not even the one arguing with him.

"With all due respect, Dr. Norton, she's my patient. And as her doctor, it's my job to care for her to the best of my ability. If my diagnostic skills are better than yours, it's up to me to treat what's wrong with her, whether or not you agree," she snaps, and TC has to quickly disguise his snort of laughter for a cough. Apparently Dr. Alexander can be snarky. He looks down and pretends to be writing in his chart in case they notices him watching, but they don't seem to, because she plows right on.

"She has all of the symptoms, aside from the rash, which is actually only present in seventy to eighty percent of cases. We live in one of the states where the disease is most prevalent, and she admitted to spending copious amounts of time outside. All of the signs point to Lyme, whether you want to admit it or not."

"Dr. Alexander!" he snaps, but she continues to speak.

"So, I'm going to run an ELISA test. And when that comes back positive, I'll double check and do a western blot in case of a false positive. When that proves what I already know, I'll start her on a round of antibiotics before it can spread even further and start affecting her nervous system." With that, she turns and marches into the patient's room, leaving a very pissed off Dr. Norton in her wake.

TC wants to cheer, but he refrains. No need to draw attention to himself. Despite the fact that their argument got fairly heated, neither one of them raised their voices, so he's fairly sure he's the only one who got to witness Dr. Norton getting put in his place. He also wishes he could take a picture of the dumbfounded expression on his boss's face, but unfortunately, he doesn't think he can be discreet enough. Oh well. At least he got to watch it first hand.

Dr. Norton storms off down the hallway, and TC can't quite contain his chuckle. Dr. Alexander, he muses to himself. He's going to have to remember that.

* * *

"I like you," a voice to her left says suddenly, making her jump.

She turns to see who's speaking. His eyes are twinkling and he's sporting a cocky grin. She ignores the flutter in her chest that his smile causes, because she remembers him from their resident orientation. He flirted with every single girl there, and acted as though he was God's gift to man. She can tell by his grin that she's supposed to be swooning, so she quirks an eyebrow instead, to show just how unaffected she is. He chuckles lightly.

"Don't worry, I'm not hitting on you," he says with a wink. She tells herself that she's not disappointed, but relieved. She can't quite convince herself. "Just, you're not like everyone else here. "You're…" he pauses for a few seconds before he finally settles on "spunky."

"Spunky?" she repeats, speaking for the first time.

He nods. "Yeah. Spunky. Like before, with Dr. Norton. You didn't back down, even though he's your attending."

"I was right," she points out, and he laughs. Apparently her test results came back the way she expected.

"I know. I knew you right as soon as you said Lyme disease," he says. "But, then again, I think I'm a bit smarter than Dr. Norton," he adds in a conspiratorial whisper. She rolls her eyes. "Seriously, though," he continues, "most people would have backed down, thinking the attending knows best, or some other bullshit. You didn't. It's refreshing. So, I like you. I think you're a good doctor." He shrugs, and she can't quite believe that's all he had to say.

"Who are you?" she finally asks.

"TC," he says with a smile, sticking a hand out for her to shake. "Callahan," he adds. She shakes his hand, ignoring how nice its warmth feels as it dwarfs her much smaller hand.

"Dr. Alexander," she replies.

"I knew that," he says, gesturing to the embroidered _J. Alexander, M.D._ above her left pocket. "But what's that stand for?" he asks, lightly tapping the J with his index finger.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she replies as she turns and heads back towards her patient's room, leaving him to watch her walk away.

"Alright, I see how it is," he says. "I will figure it out, though. You can't remain anonymous forever, J Alexander," he calls after her.

* * *

"Jordan," he says triumphantly, appearing next to her at the nurses' station two days later. She bites back a groan.

"Congratulations. You have basic investigative skills. I'm surprised," she says dryly.

He pretends to be offended. "I am a doctor, you know."

"You don't have to be smart to be a doctor," she points out. In fact, the more time she spends here, the more she thinks it's the exception rather than the rule.

"True," he agrees. "I think Dr. Norton is proof of that." She can't help the laugh that escapes, and he grins in response. She curses herself. She's not supposed to encourage him by laughing at his jokes.

"You know he's your boss," she reminds him, and he shrugs.

"That doesn't mean he's not an idiot." She's inclined to agree, but he doesn't need to know that.

* * *

"Do you like baseball?" he asks a few days later in the break room. She shrugs. She does like baseball, but doesn't want to give in and tell him about herself. "I've got great seats for the Orioles this weekend," he continues. "If you're interested?"

"I'm not a big sports fan," she says, ignoring the little voice in her head reminding her of the three Orioles jerseys hanging in her closet at home

"No problem," he says easily. "I knew it was a long shot, but I thought you might surprise me." He shrugs. "Well have a good baseball-free weekend," he says with a grin before he gets up off the couch and leaves the room. He took her rejection so well she figures he wasn't actually asking her out, but was just being friendly. She can't be too careful, though.

* * *

"You missed a hell of a game," he tells her Monday morning, handing her a cup of coffee as he falls into step next to her. She knows. She watched it alone on her tiny TV screen in her crappy apartment. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Who did you end up taking?" she asks. "One of the nurses?" She's not sure she managed to completely keep the jealousy out of her voice, and she hopes he doesn't notice. He gives her a strange look.

"No," he says slowly. "I took my brother. He's on leave for a few weeks."

"Army?" she asks as she takes a sip of the coffee he gave her. She's surprised to taste that it's prepared exactly the way she likes it. Odd.

"Ranger," is his reply. She raises her eyebrows and lets out an impressed whistle. He chuckles lightly in response. "Yeah. He keeps badgering me to enlist and join him. I keep telling him that residency is more than a full time job."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "You, in the army?" she asks, incredulous.

He shoots her a glare. "I would make a great soldier."

"Sure you would," she says with a smirk. She sincerely doubts he has the discipline required to make it the army, but what does she know?

* * *

"What's your favorite color?" he asks, suddenly appearing beside her yet again.

"Blue," she answers absentmindedly before she can stop herself, and he grins.

"Lucky you, you get to wear your favorite color everyday," he says, gesturing towards their pale blue scrubs. "And lucky for the both of us, blue brings out my eyes," he adds, fluttering his lashes in a way that she thinks is supposed to be flirtatious. She just rolls her eyes in response and walks away. Thankfully, he doesn't follow her.

* * *

After a few weeks of his incessant badgering, she finally caves and asks around to her fellow residents about him. She tells herself she's hoping to find out something she can use to blackmail him, or to prove that she's right to be avoiding him. Unfortunately, she finds neither of these.

She does learn that he went to Johns Hopkins medical school, and if rumors are to be believed, graduated at the top of his class. Apparently that cockiness is somewhat warranted. She won't lie and say she's not impressed.

She learns that he's a bit of a troublemaker, and he doesn't like to follow the rules. That, she could've guessed.

She learns that despite what she witnessed at the meet and greet a few months ago, no one has seen him around any of the female residents or nurses. That, she'll admit, surprises her. She'd have bet money he flirted and/or slept with most of the hospital's female population, and gaining evidence to the contrary leaves her feeling puzzled, and if she's being honest, happy.

* * *

"What do you think? At first, I thought it was a heart attack, because he was complaining of chest pain, but his EKG is clear," he says, handing her the chart in his hand and he comes up beside her in the hallway a few days after she began asking others about him.

"Pulmonary embolism?" she asks as she quickly scans the chart he just gave her, having given up on avoiding conversation with him. He's just so damn persistent, she doesn't see the point in continuing to discourage him.

"Chest x-ray was clear."

"Pericarditis?" is her next guess.

"Nothing on the cardiac CT." She offers a few more suggestions, but he shoots down each one.

"His ribs aren't broken, he doesn't have pneumonia, his blood pressure was well within the normal range. No family history of asthma, he hasn't got a hernia. His tests say that he's in perfect health, but he keeps getting worse. I can't figure it out," he says.

"Does he have any other symptoms?" she asks, flipping through the chart.

"His heart rate is a little high, but nothing too worrisome. And when I just checked in on him, he was running a really low-grade fever. There's nothing that wrong with him, except for the chest pain," he responds.

"Maybe it isn't what it looks like," she muses.

"What, like his chest pain isn't chest pain?" he asks, confused. She nods. He thinks for a moment, and suddenly it dawns on him. He looks up and they lock eyes.

"Pancreatitis," they say simultaneously. He grins at her.

"Come on," he says, grabbing her hand and dragging her to the patient's room. "Can you lay flat for me, Mr. Barlow," he asks the man in the hospital bed once they enter the room.

The man complies, but as soon as he's flat he clutches his chest and groans. "It's getting worse," he says through his labored breathing.

"Alright," TC says. "Now can you sit up and lean forward?"

As he leans forward, his breathing slows. "Whoa, it actually feels better," Mr. Barlow says, surprised. TC turns and grins at Jordan.

"OK, Mr. Barlow. I'm going to start you on some fluids, an antibiotic, and I'm going to give you something for the pain," he explains, making a note in his chart. "And I'll be back in a few minutes to do an ultrasound to check for gallstones. You'll be feeling much better soon, Mr. Barlow," he says, and turns to leave the room. Jordan follows.

"Good catch," she offers.

"Like I could've done it without you," he scoffs. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?" he asks with a grin. She doesn't answer.

* * *

"So I heard you went to Hopkins," she says about a week later when she catches sight of him walking towards her. "Are you from around here?" she asks, and then curses herself when she catches sight of the grin he's sporting. Why did she feel the need to initiate conversation with him? It's practically an invitation for him to continue bothering her.

"You checked up on me," he says in a singsong voice and she barely stifles a groan.

"No," she defends, but she can feel her cheeks turning pink. "I overheard the nurses talking."

He raises an amused eyebrow. "Yes, I'm sure the nurses discuss my medical education quite frequently," he says dryly. "Are you impressed?" he asks with a grin.

"Please," she scoffs. It's silent for a few moments before he takes pity on her.

"No, I'm not from around here," he finally answers her original question. "I'm a Texas boy, born and raised," he drawls in a slight southern accent.

"Texas?" she says, raising her eyebrows.

"What? Were you expecting a cowboy hat and bolo ties?"

"I mean…" she trails off and he rolls his eyes.

"Clearly I'm the first Texan you've met. Don't worry, we'll rid you of your stereotypes soon enough," he says with an exasperated sigh. "Actually, Texas is a lot like Baltimore. Everyone has a gun," he says with a smirk, and she rolls her eyes. "We just have less of that obnoxious white slush falling from the sky," he adds, and the distaste is clear in his voice.

"Snow is not obnoxious," she snaps. "It's magical."

He laughs loudly. "Yeah, magically able to be a pain in my ass. Trust me, trudging through the snow at eight in the morning to get to your organic chem lecture is not my idea of a good time. Besides, you can't ride a motorcycle in the snow."

"Of course you have a motorcycle," she mutters with a roll of her eyes. "Organic chem," she repeats. "So you did your undergrad here, too?"

"Jersey, actually," he says. "Princeton, Class of '04," he finally admits with a shrug. He says it awkwardly, and she can tell he doesn't want it to seem like he's bragging. Apparently he's not as cocky as he first appeared.

She schools her features into an unimpressed mask, unwilling to let give him the satisfaction of showing she's impressed. But, once again, he's managed to surprise her. Princeton and Hopkins. He must be smarter than he looks.

* * *

He proves this a few days later. While he has no qualms about asking her for help and using her to bounce ideas, she refuses to do the same. He's cocky enough as it is, and she's perfectly capable of diagnosing her patients on her own. She ignores the fact that once they start using each other as sounding boards, they always solve the puzzle much faster together than they can separately.

One day she's studying, or more like scowling at, her patient's chart, when he appears next to her yet again and plucks it out of her hands. "Whaddya got?" he asks, hopping up to sit on the counter that she's leaning against.

"Nothing," she says, snatching it back.

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. "You were glaring pretty hard at nothing," he says. She rolls her eyes.

"I'll figure it out," she mutters, unwilling to admit that she's stumped. He reaches out and grabs the chart again. She doesn't bother protesting. His eyes scan it quickly, and he hands it back to her.

"Chest x-ray?" he asks.

"Normal," she replies. "She's complaining of some discomfort, and she's got a pretty nasty cough, though."

"Has she got any joint pain?" he asks after a moment. She quirks an eyebrow.

"She said her knees starting hurting a few days ago, but she figured it was normal soreness after exercise. She was hiking and in a cave or something a few weeks ago. It didn't seem connected to her other symptoms, so I figured she was right about it being normal wear and tear. Why?"

"She's a spelunker?" he asks.

"I guess so," she says slowly. "Sometimes?"

"Start her on Itraconazole," he says, hopping down off the counter.

"Itraconazole?" she repeats. "That's an antifungal."

"Histoplasmosis," is all he says before he disappears down the hallway. She watches him walk away, confused. There's no way he's right. Histoplasmosis is caused by a fungus that's practically harmless. No one ever shows symptoms.

He has to be wrong, she thinks as she watches him walk away. But she orders a fungal culture just in case he's not.

* * *

"How did you know?" she demands, sticking the results of the fungal culture, which were positive for _Histoplasma capsulatum_ , into his face. He scans the paper quickly and then smirks.

"Do you know that histoplasmosis is also known as Spelunker's Lung and Cave Disease?" he asks, still grinning.

"No," she snaps, still annoyed that he was right. "Why do you?"

"The summer when I was ten, a whole bunch of people in Texas got sick after they went spelunking in a cave in Bracketville. It turned out to be histoplasmosis," he explains.

"You were ten. Why do you remember that?" she asks, figuring a ten year old probably didn't watch the news. He shrugs.

"Even as a kid, I knew I wanted to be a doctor. I always thought diseases were interesting," he says.

"Unbelievable," she mutters. "Ten years old and you're researching histoplasmosis." Secretly, she's impressed, but she figures his ego doesn't need any more stroking and doesn't say anything.

* * *

"Ready for some magic?" he asks, falling into step beside her as she heads for the front door to leave for the night. His voice startles her and she stumbles. He steadies her with a hand on her elbow.

"What – I, no – what do you…" she stutters out. Of course he would try to hit on her with some cheesy pick-up line. "What?" she finally manages to say.

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head at her. "It's snowing," he says slowly, gesturing towards the clear glass doors they're heading towards. She follows his gaze and, indeed, there are large white flakes drifting lazily in the yellow lights.

"Oh, right, snow. Yupp, I'm ready!" she smiles at him, but it feels like it looks more like a grimace. From the look he gives her, she's right.

"Are you ok?" he asks.

"Fine," she nods. "Just really tired."

"Ah, the life of a resident," he says wistfully and she laughs.

"At least it's snowing," she says as they step outside.

He looks at her like she's crazy. "No, not at least it's snowing. _Unfortunately_ , it's snowing."

"You're an idiot. Snow is awesome," she says, spreading her arms out and tilting her head up towards the sky.

"You northeasterners and your crazy ideas about weather," he grumbles, but he's smiling at her. "It needs to be eighty, minimum, at all times."

"That just sounds terrible," she says.

"No, what's terrible is shoveling all this stupid slush and driving half as fast as normal."

"But what about building snowmen and having snowball fights and hot chocolate?" she asks, grinning.

He shakes his head at her. "I've got nothing."

"Nothing?" she asks, incredulous. "Wait, have you never done any of that?"

"Texan," he says, pointing to himself. "We don't get much snow in the Lone Star State."

"Really?" she says sarcastically. "Texas isn't that state up by Canada? I've been living a lie."

"Very funny," he says with a roll of his eyes. "You look cold," he says when she pulls her coat tighter around herself.

She shrugs. "I'm fine."

He narrows his eyes at her and doesn't miss it when she shivers slightly. "Ha!" he says. "You are cold! And this is exactly why snow sucks." He grins triumphantly.

"Fine," she admits grudgingly. "It's a little chilly."

"Yes!" he says, pumping his fist in the air. "I knew it."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

"Seriously, though. You should go home. Get some sleep. You look like crap," he says with a smirk.

"Gee, you sure know how to charm a woman," she says dryly.

He chuckles lightly. "Really, Jordan. Go home," he says gently. She tries to ignore the warmth she feels at the fact he's concerned about her, and the way the snow is dusting his shoulders and dark hair and the way his eyes are sparkling at her.

"See you tomorrow," she says softly.

"Tomorrow," he replies, and then turns to walk towards his car. She watches him walk away for much longer than she'd like to admit, and when he turns back and catches her watching him, she quickly spins around and hurries to her car before he can comment, cursing herself the whole way.

* * *

Eventually, she realizes that she's only being difficult out of habit, and she actually enjoys TC's company. She's surprised, given her first impression of him, but he's actually smart, funny, and even sweet when he wants to be. He's also not the player she first made him out to be. In fact, she rarely sees him talking to any girls who aren't her. She'll admit that makes her feel special.

Unfortunately, he has shown no inclination of asking her out. He constantly badgers her, consistently flirts with her, but hasn't asked her out since the baseball game that she declined, and she can't even say for sure that was meant to be a date.

Finally, she gets so fed up with waiting around that she can't help but say something. He's in the middle of telling her a story that involves him and his brother, a wagon bungee corded to a bicycle, and a trip to the ER when she can't hold it in any longer.

"Are you ever going to ask me out?" she interrupts, exasperated. He trails off in the middle of a detailed description of a bungee hook sticking out of the flesh surrounding his older brother's eye and stares at her, open-mouthed. "Well?" she snaps after a long beat of silence, and that seems to bring him out of his stupor.

"I thought you'd never ask," he says with his usual confident grin in place.

"What?" she asks, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

He laughs out loud at the look on her face. "Jordan, I've been dropping hints since the first day I talked to you." She just stares at him blankly, saying nothing. "The Orioles game," he says slowly, trying to nudge her memory.

"That was supposed to be a date?"

He stares at her. For a doctor, he's astounded at how stupid she can be. "I asked you to come with me, didn't I?"

"I thought you were just being friendly," she sputters.

"Friendly?" he repeats, incredulous. "Jordan, we hang out _all the time_."

"You never made it seem like you were asking me out. It was always so casual. I figured we were friends," she defends. "Besides, you never asked me out again," she grins triumphantly, figuring she's stumped him.

"I'm not a man who gets rejected more than once by the same woman," he says. "I wasn't about to ask you out again unless I knew you'd changed your mind. I'd like to keep my dignity, at least." She snorts lightly when he says dignity, and he narrows his eyes at her.

"You should have been more obvious. You didn't make it seem like you were asking me out," she tells him.

He rolls his eyes. "I didn't make it seem like I was asking you out," he repeats. "Did I not invite you to do something, just the two of us, on a weekend, outside of the hospital?" He's right, and she can feel herself flushing in embarrassment.

"I didn't know," she mutters quietly, refusing to meet his eyes.

"What do you want, woman, me to get down on bended knee and offer to court you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps, lifting her head, but he's got a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Suddenly he's dropping down to one knee in front her. "Get up!" she hisses as people in the hall stop to watch the scene unfold. He ignores her.

"Jordan Alexander," he says in a lofty voice. "Would you be so kind as to do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner this Friday evening?" She can feel her face turning red, and everyone within earshot is staring at them. He ignores them and continues. "In case this isn't clear," he adds, "this would be a date. A real live, romantic, you wear a dress, I'll bring you flowers, fancy restaurant date. I'll probably kiss you at then end." She buries her face in her hands as the people watching start to laugh. "I'll definitely kiss you at the end," he amends, and she's sure her face is the color of a tomato at this point. "Would you agree to be courted by me?" he finishes, sweeping his arms out and looking up at her with a wide grin.

"You're an idiot," she mutters, and the surrounding crowd laughs again. She is never going to live this down.

He grins up at her from his spot on the floor. "I'll take that as a yes."


End file.
